


Words Come From Love.

by Meluna_01



Series: Death note one shots [9]
Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Flashbacks, Friendship, Heartbreak, Hurt, Light Angst, Lost Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Writer's Block, im sorry, light doesn't want to wirte, this is how i deal with not posting, writer light, writng
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 07:41:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13049571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meluna_01/pseuds/Meluna_01
Summary: Every day when he sat behind his desk, looked at the outline. He felt it. There was a time when his words spilled from love. From a place where he hadn’t been in a long time. There was a time when he wrote for something, for someone.orThe one where Light is a writer who lost his love for writing.





	Words Come From Love.

He tapped a finger on the desk. _tap. tap. tap._ and he counted. _one. two. three._  
He hummed to himself as he stared at the computer screen. _tap. tap. tap._ His eyes followed the letters on the monitor. _four, five, six._ He wasn’t reading, he was looking at nothing in particular. _tap. tap. tap._ he tipped the chair a bit back and ran a hand through his hair. _seven, eight, nine._  
He couldn’t find the concentration to read the text he typed out, his mind wandering elsewhere. He glanced at the outline crafted with sticky notes on the white wall behind his desk. So many words and phrases he didn’t really care to read.  
His fingers where cold and his eyes weary. It was 12:16 AM and Light was still trying to put his thoughts to the paper.  
He had been fine that afternoon. It was exceptional, he didn’t feel happy, but not sad either. Words and sentences were forming in his head when he had been walking through the afternoon sun. the wind blowing through his hair.  
But now he wasn’t fine anymore. Memories had come rushing in at high speed, knocking him down with waves of painful thoughts. It had been two months and 16 days since he lost everything. Even longer since he had put out a new chapter to his story.  
And now he was sitting at his desk, staring at an outline that he made for the story he wanted to write. He couldn’t think straight. He just wanted to finish the story.  
But it wasn’t that easy. 

Five years ago, he met L, a young detective who worked on a case at his school. Someone had been murdered in a rather poetic way and L was there to find the killer.  
Light had helped him. not because of anything, but because he wanted to. His whole life he had been reading and trying to write crime novels and now he had the chance to experience one.  
He worked with L for a couple of months and the two became very close.  
After a while L started helping Light with his stories, just like Light helped him with his investigations.  
One piece caught flame online.  
It was an instant hit.  
A short story about two boys who met in a park where a murder had occurred. One of them was blind, the other was a detective.  
Light, with L’s encouragements, decided he would continue the story. The story that was a hit almost overnight.  
So, the boys got to work, writing this story about the blind boy and the mysterious detective.  
Both loved the story and couldn’t speak about anything else. New ideas were added every time they spoke and placed amongst many other ideas in the already colorfully marked outline on the white wall behind Light’s desk.  
People loved it and Light loved writing it. It was personal and true to what he wanted to make.  
After a while however it became harder for him to write, he’d lost his confidence, thought that everything in had to be perfect. But he could never make it perfect.  
L tried to help, tried to tell him that it didn’t have to be perfect. That he should just write what he loves.  
So, Light kept writing. he kept adding to the story he once loved. He tried really hard to post as much as he could. But sometimes it was too hard. Sometimes he just wanted to stop, the start over. Sometimes he needed more than just encouraging words.  
But every time when he wanted to give up L was there, telling him not to.  
Every time Light wanted to stop he had comments overflowing his inbox, telling him how much he loved the story. How much they loved the characters and how he had written it.  
So, he never stopped.  
That changed two months and 16 days ago. 

He said something to L, L got mad.  
It was innocent really. He only told L that he didn’t like it when L’s friends came unexpectedly.  
L didn’t take it so well and ignored Light for two months. Leaving him heartbroken.  
Then one day he told Light he wasn’t happy anymore, that the relationship between them wasn’t positive anymore.  
So, he left.  
For good. 

Light missed him every day.  
And every day when he sat behind his desk, looked at the outline. He felt it. There was a time when his words spilled from love. From a place where he hadn’t been in a long time. There was a time when he wrote for something, for someone. 

Now it was the middle of the night again. Light was trying so hard to work, to write, to create the world that he once loved so dearly.  
His tapping had ceased. He stood and paced the room, mumbling words to himself.  
The room around him was dark. the monitor the only source of light. His cold hands trembled as they always did when Light was too tired to be awake. The sound of his feet padding on the laminate sounded incredibly hollow and empty. He didn’t notice that he started tapping again. His index finger brushing against the fabric of his sweats in a rhythmic motion. _tap. tap. tap._  
He stood still as words formed a sentence in his head. Then he shook it. “not good enough,” he mumbled and started pacing ageing.  
His pulse rose, his anger bubbling deep inside him.  
“Come on, Light. You idiot.” His voice sounded strange.  
He picked up the mug of coffee from his desk and took a sip, cold.  
With a scream, he threw it against the white wall behind his desk. Covering the entire outline with coffee splatters.  
He took a sharp breath and watched the ink on the sticky notes start to run. He closed his eyes for a second and sunk to the ground.  
He cried. Holding himself as he drowned in his own self-pity. What had become of him. the once so great writer. 

After what must have been hours he scribbled to his feet, walked into the kitchen to get a new mug of coffee and some paper to clean the mess behind his desk.  
Once he cleaned up the mess, he sat down on his chair and opened a new tab in his browser. He clicked on his story and posted a new note.  
“I’m trying. Please don’t be mad.”  
He closed the tab and went to examine the damage on his outline.  
Some notes had fallen to the floor while others were completely wiped out.  
Light sighed and opened the back-up outline on his computer.  
He brushed some hair out of his face and read through the chapter outline he needed to write.  
Then he clicked on his document and started typing, knowing that he wasn’t going to post anytime soon.  
Knowing that he missed L too much to continue _their_ story.  
_tap. tap. tap._

**Author's Note:**

> This is my explanation for being gone


End file.
